Foxtrot
by Winged'Pollution
Summary: Sequel to Masquerade. After a year of running and capture, I begin my descent into madness.
1. Rose Petals OR Prolouge

**Chapter 1**

**Dear old-timers,**

**Yes, I'm back. *Accepts applause* Well, first off, ****if you are just joining me, don't. Go read the previous to this story, Masquerade, which I've been told is very good****. By many, many people. Seriously, I have no idea how it got that big, it has like 200 fucking reviews. No idea I was that good at writing. But I've had a lot of requests and stuff to get this sequel on the roll, not to mention that my other Alta****ï****r story is dying a slow death via plot deficiency. Hence the sequel to Masq.**

**Much thanks to xoxo Lucifer's Daughter for giving me the final push for writing this. **** Well, enjoy, and leave a review!**

**Sincerely,**

**AF**

**Disclaimer: Oh, yeah, that shit. Yadda yadda, I don't own Assassin's Creed or its characters, the only things that belong to me are Anna, Emily, Leah, and Mary-Alice. Now go away, Disclaimer Fairy.**

**Song: Sweet Escape, Gwen Stefani ft. Akon**

"**If I could escape, I would, but first of all let me say**

**I must apologize for acting, stinking, treating you this way,**

'**Cause I've been acting like sour milk fell on the floor;**

**It's your fault, you didn't shut the refrigerator—maybe that's**

**The reason I've been acting so cold. If I could escape,**

**And re-create a place as my own world, then I could be your favorite girl,**

**Forever, perfectly together. And tell me boy, now wouldn't that be sweet?" **

**Previously in the Masquerade world . . . **

_**Blinking furiously, I looked around, almost giving myself whiplash trying to get a take on everything. Cobbled streets. A wheelbarrow of rose petals next to me.**_

_**"Oh, no . . ." I whispered.**_

_**It looked like I could do it, after all.**_

Oh, God. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph . . . and every other religious name I can think of; which aren't many. Lord, what was I going to do? Where the fuck was Ezio? And for the love of all that is holy, can someone please tell me that the man that just walked past me wasn't wearing tights. Really tight tights. Tights that should be illegal for men. And that gaudy feather . . .

I pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes, not believing what I was seeing. Here I was, in my black and neon-spattered My Chemical Romance T-shirt and gray skinnies, three fourths of the way through the fifteenth century. It was just . . . just so fucking surreal. It was like your first trip on acid. This had to be a figment of my much-overworked imagination. Mentally slapping the author side of me, I thought simply, _Anna, this is just the continuation of your series kicking in. Any second now, you're going to wake up, realize you fell asleep at your computer, and go get some Starbucks. Yeah . . . coffee. That's helped your writer's block before, it can help again. Especially since you need to wake up now. Wake up._

Deciding to test this theory, I stumbled to my feet and staggered dizzily to the bale of rose petals, stubbing my toe on the wooden wheel and releasing some of my choicest swears. Smiling sweetly and flipping the bird to any onlookers, I hefted myself into the bale of fragrant flowers, my Sharpie-infected Converses scraping some of the old wood off of the edge. The petals were silky and way too pink for my taste, but once I was completely submerged in the flowers, it felt relaxing, like taking a bath in the essence of girly-ness.

Sighing, I nuzzled further into the petals, closing my eyes and breathing in the heady rose perfume; and before I knew it, I was asleep in a wheelbarrow, in the past.

[…]

My rude awakening was getting my head slammed against the side of the cart. Swearing sleepily, I felt a slight case of déjà vu as I remembered the first time I had met Ezio, when he was holding a knife to my throat in my bedroom. Despite my still-groggy state, my heart jumped. I missed him, but . . . I still wasn't sure. I wasn't sure about anything, about Ezio, or what time I was in, or how I had—

I gasped, jolting straight up in my temporary bed. Where's the Apple? Oh, Lord, if some random Joe off the street picked up the most powerful object humanity has ever come in contact with, then God, we were screwed. I hadn't bothered to look around for it when I came here; maybe it was still out there. Was it even with me? I was holding it when I left . . . it had to have come with.

Ouch, why was my head hurting again? Oh, yeah . . . why was it slammed into the side of that wheelbarrow, again? I let my hands roam blindly through the soft petals, feeling for anything that didn't feel like roses. My hands hit the bottom of the cart, so I went out and up from where I was in the bottom corner. Nothing, nothing, nothing . . . what the hell had happened? I couldn't see anything but the pink directly in front of my eyes, and I couldn't hear anything except my own breathing, and . . . oh, shit, what was that? I swear to God, if some sort of rabid animal had crawled in here with me . . .

I searched further into the bale of flowers. It seemed like nothing was there at first, but then my fingers touched something rougher than the satin petals, something that didn't rip apart if I moved it an awkward angle with my fingers. It was a white cloth, oddly cut, and if I didn't know better, I would have thought it was the tip of a cape.

My eye twitched slightly. What. It couldn't be . . . more déjà vu. Distinct, this time. Only eight months ago, I had been in a similar position, clawing at Ezio's cape for an embrace after . . . no. Not now. That's somewhere that is strictly off-limits. It was somewhere confusing, and sad, and frustrating . . . because it made me wonder if I made the right choice.

A hand gripped my wrist tightly, and I gasped at the sudden movement. Before I knew it, I was inches away from a familiar face and scarred lips. Swallowing, my eyes slid upwards to see molten bronze staring me down.

"E . . . Ezio?" I choked out.

"_Bella." _Was the reply.


	2. A Faraway Film

**Chapter 2**

**Dear assassins,**

**I've gotten some pretty good feedback so far, all things considered. I apologize for Ezio's retarded reaction, but that's like his little nickname for her, so whatever. I'll try to make him better as a character. .**

**Sincerely,**

**AF**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah. I own nothing. Shut up. I'm not putting this in every chapter, because I'm lazy like that. So yes, anything Ubisoft created is not mine. Okay, now they can't sue me.**

**Song: The Dog Days Are Over, Florence + The Machine**

"**Leave all your love and your loving behind you,**

**Can't carry it with you if you want to survive!**

**The dog days are over, the dog days are done! Can't you**

**Hear the horses, 'cause here they come! And I never wanted**

**Anything from you except everything you had and what**

**Was left after that too."**

"Ezio! Where the hell have you been! I had time for a nap, for goodness sake!" My arms were locked around his chest in a desperate sort of hug, and I wanted nothing more than to just stay here, forever and ever. A small part of my mind niggled at the events of eight months ago, but I carefully pushed it away.

"I was visiting an old friend," He answered. "He found a most unusual object . . . I have not seen him for almost a year, however, so I was simply catching up on news and events of the past year."

My stomach skipped rope, tripped, and face-planted into my large intestine. No way. It couldn't be . . . yeah, most likely. My hunches were almost always right, whether I liked them or not.

"Ezio . . ." I started. "Could you take me to see this friend of yours?"

Ezio seemed confused. "_Si, _I suppose I could. Why?"

I faltered. How was I supposed to explain this? My mind blanking, I simply said, "Just do it, please, Ezio?"

Oh, my puppy eyes always worked. Smiling at me, Ezio disappeared from the rose petals, and I clumsily jumped out after him, my suspicions about who this friend of his was growing more into knowledge than wonder with every passing second.

We jogged through side alleys teeming with vermin, beggars waving empty tin cups at us. Ezio led me through open streets with beautiful architecture towering on either side of the paved ground. How far away could this place be, for crying out loud? My legs burned, and my lungs ached, and suddenly I wished I had kept to my weak workout regimen during my short time as an author. A strong wave of homesickness hit me, but no, I couldn't be that weak. I hadn't even been here for a day, and already my hands were doing that annoying shaking thing. The pain was still there, and the deep want to get back to my boring, novel-filled, frustrating, wonderful existence. That part of my life seemed like a dream, as if I had watched it as a movie through a TV, and only now was I getting up to go get some popcorn and Sour Patch Kids. And right now I was still getting free refills, so I could go see the second half of a faraway film.

[…]

It was like I had run across the entire city of (what I now recognized as) Florence before we came upon the familiar door of Leonardo da Vinci's workshop. Ezio did his customary double knock before opening the heavy wooden door in the self-inviting way that only very good friends can pull off. I lingered back a bit, wheezing like an old person, as Ezio walked casually into the house/workshop. I heard the sound of Leonardo's voice—soft-spoken, but still with that hint of confidence, that certain _breed_ of confidence that only writers, musicians, artists, etc. get after chasing away any self-consciousness from years of sharing their work with others. Standing outside the doorway, I was suddenly gripped with a sudden and rather frantic desire to see that infamous painter and inventor that changed the world.

Stepping boldly into the house, I ran abruptly into Ezio's back, because I was stupid and hadn't realized that he hadn't walked all the way into the room. I peeked carefully out from behind his shoulder, my short wave of confidence evaporating rapidly. And there he was, good ol' Leonardo, apparently caught red-handed—literally. The palm of one hand was covered in an entire rainbow, red being the dominating color. Grinning, I took a quick look around the room. His (practically) trademark hat was hanging on the corner of a large canvas on the other side of the room, the picture on said canvas only halfway through a sketch. Ladders led up to scaffolding where drawings like that one were stacked and lined and pushed up against one another, some more finished or cared for than others. In a small side room in the back, small models of basic planes or flying machines or war machines, and the list goes on to things less easily identifiable.

A very fresh paint palette was lying on the ground, face-down. It was enough to make anyone wince. Looking at Leo's sheepish face, the overturned palette, and his paint covered hand, I put what I thought was the story together in my mind. Ezio had surprised Leo when he walked in, Leo had jumped, dropped the paints, tried to catch them, and ended up getting paint on one hand, mixing all the colors together, and dropping it anyway. I almost wanted to feel sorry for the artist, but the sight was so funny that the need to laugh was stronger than pity.

Ezio seemed pretty amused by the sight of his friend as well, and as far as I could tell the Assassin was barely holding in his laughter. Leonardo was trying to look angry, but it wasn't working, so in the end we all ended up laughing before he grabbed a rag and began to clean up the mess he had made.

"So, what brings you back, Ezio?" The inventor asked.

"I brought a friend." He stepped aside to reveal me still snickering at the paint incident. "She wants to take a look at that strange globe you found."

Leo was instantly excited. Obviously, he was enraptured by the Apple. "Ah! Yes, a most interesting phenomenon, that." He went rummaging through piles of charcoal sketches and blueprints, sandy hair flying. He was going casual, not wearing his (rather uncomfortable looking) fancy green thing, but a loose-fitting, paint-stained off-white shirt and dark brown pants. He was barefoot. When he turned around, I spied a definite, obvious knot in his long-ish hair. There was a tiny bit of blond stubble on his chin, and I noticed that his cape was hanging next to his hat, as well. It looked like he hadn't been outside for at least a week, or had just fallen out of bed. I suppose this is what he turns into when he spends days working on a painting.

At last he emerged from the inescapable sea of paper and held up the Apple rather triumphantly. "Here it is!" Leonardo proclaimed. "How it got lost so easily, I have no idea . . . you just gave it to me not too long ago, Ezio, and already I have lost track of it!" He had a flustered grin on his face that made him look younger than he was.

The effect of the Apple was no dimmer than when it was in the future. Still alluring, still tempting, still deviously powerful. Still dangerous. It had a faint glow about it, like some being from the heavens was captured inside the impenetrable golden walls, and some of it's lovely power was leaking through the cracks.

Taking a deep breath, I walked forward and carefully took the Piece of Eden from Leo. He didn't seem to mind all that much, but he was giving me very strange looks, whether it be about my otherworldly clothes or my shivering hands, I didn't know, but if my stay here was anything like Ezio's stay in the future, I needed some clothes. But there was no way I was going to wear some big yucky dress with a million hoops and layers. Nuh-uh. And right now there were more concerning matters to deal with, but the dress thing was definitely going to make my list

It was a beautiful thing to behold, the Apple, but I resisted its charms. I had to—if there was anyone here who had to keep a cool head about this, it was me. Only I knew what was going to happen, and only I could make history stay on its designated tracks.

What to now, of course, was the problem. Giving the Apple back to Leonardo seemed like a reasonable road to travel, but I didn't want it to get stolen, and if I wanted to keep an eye on it I would have to stay here, and if I asked to stay here the greatest inventor in the history of humanity would think I was rude, and—oh, my thoughts were just getting worse. I needed to calm down. Ezio could probably put in a good word for me . . .

I handed the Piece back to Leonardo. He accepted it graciously and politely asked me if I had found what I was looking for.

"Yes. . . I think so." I changed at the last second. "Don't bother with it," I continued. I felt like some sort of shaman or all-knowing wise woman. "There's no way to open it, and it won't come in handy for about another six hundred years."

Messer Vinci was staring at me like I had lost my mind—and maybe I had. It seemed likely. To interrupt the awkward silence with an even more awkward comment that originated mainly from the unannounced boost of adrenaline, I blurted randomly, "Do you mind if I stay here? I don't have anywhere to go . . ." I looked at Ezio beseechingly. Which was really a terrible way to look, seeing as I had no right to say something like that about the Apple and then act like nothing had happened, but that was what I was doing. Deal, Ezio, deal.

He looked completely lost, which was a bit like how I felt. No, wait, a lot like how I felt. Ezio grinned in that mischievous way of his. Not that he was being mischievous—it was just the way he smiled.

"I will be visiting often . . ." Ezio covered for me. "And she is quite trustable, I assure you." If it was possible for voices to wink, this certifiably womanizing Assassin had just accomplished it.

Leonardo looked confused, then pleasantly polite, and then happy, and he looked very much like one of those little faces you get when you use two "insert above" buttons.

"Of course, of course!" He said enthusiastically, though with this guy I could never tell if he was faking or not. "Any friend of Ezio's is a friend of mine! You are welcome to stay as long as you like, _mio amico._"

Wow. Talk about hospitality. Again, faking it or not, Leo certainly _sounded _sincere. Adrenaline gone, awkwardness creeping in, I stepped forward, only half-listening to Ezio's story about needing to go do something or other out in the city. Sighing, I walked more into the room, getting that feeling one has when you go over to a friend's house for the first time. I distantly heard a goodbye, and then Ezio was gone, in a flutter of capes and clinking of weapons.

Leonardo looked at me for the first time, really looked at me, and I was struck by the blueness of his eyes—yet another feature that made him look more like a child than an adult.

My thoughts were broken off by the artist clapping his hands together, the sound squelching slightly due to the lingering paint. "Now . . ." He gave me a quick once-over. "You could probably use a change of clothes, _si?" _

I smiled. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Ezio better not abandon me here, though, or there will be hell to pay. "_Si._"


	3. Reflect

**Chapter 3**

**Dear artists of death,**

**Ugh. I have a thesis paper to write, but I'm lazy and my teacher is kind of a ditz, so I'm trying to ignore my responsibilities and write this instead. Feel special. ****Also, this chapter includes a bit of an explanation about what happened in the eight-month period where Ezio stayed with Anna. I didn't include these descriptions of her in Masq., but please don't judge. ****Okay, thanks, enjoy, disclaimer.**

**Sincerely,**

**AF**

**Song: Holiday, Green Day**

"**I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies! This is**

**The dawning of the rest of our lives, on holiday!"**

I was now Leonardo da Vinci's unofficial doppelganger.

Wait. Let me explain.

He hadn't had any female clothes, obviously, so I was just wearing the same thing he was, since anything else he owned would have made me look funny. So, a very loose crème shirt, dark brown pants, no shoes. It was actually very comfortable, but I was just sitting awkwardly in a wooden chair, my hands clasped, and my legs and feet together like I was at a fancy dinner party. Watching Leonardo paint (after he got a new pallet of the right colors, of course, which didn't seem easy, because it looked like they had been meticulously mixed to just the right shades) was like watching the Big Bang or something. It looked completely effortless, the way his hands glided from paint to canvas and back again. I didn't recognize the piece, but then again I hadn't exactly been obsessing over da Vinci's work back in 2012.

After about ten minutes I realized I had been staring openly at Leo. Actually, I only came to that conclusion after Leo caught my eye and stopped his brushwork to ask if I would like something to eat, because it was still rather early in the morning, don't you think? And after all, I looked far too thin to be well-fed.

My frazzled but polite declinations did nothing against the infallible spirit of generosity that Leo radiated, and I ended up gnawing on a block of bread with some fragrant olive oil. It tasted phenomenal, but it still felt like I was overstepping my bounds somehow. Or maybe I just wasn't at many friends' houses other than Leah's and Emily's.

Of course, the reason I was so thin was due to the historic realization I came to about nine or ten months ago. After that, my appetite for food had decreased considerably. I didn't have an eating disorder or anything, food just . . . it's like a professional thief who suddenly won the lottery. He'll still use the money, but it won't be nearly as satisfying or fun.

After my time at Abstergo, I must have lost ten pounds. While Ezio stayed at my house after, I fasted regularly. The upcoming wedding of my sister had done nothing to stop me; sometimes Ezio forced me to eat. When I wasn't recording what I had learned in the Animus on paper, I relived it, just lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, walking through the memories step by step. Every day, I tried to learn more, to see what it all meant, to try and look at the jigsaw from above. I had grown pasty and gaunt. My cell phone/holographic lay abandoned. It was a rare occasion to see Leah and Emily, and when I did, I could tell they noticed my changes.

_[] April 14, 2013 []_

_A knock on the door startled me out of my thinking. The Ones Who Came Before worried me, and I was focusing my attention on them. The warming weather was getting my spirits up a fraction, but I was determined not to enjoy the weather until I had unraveled more of the mystery of Them. _

_In sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, I fumbled to the door, and afternoon light streamed in along with the ever-cheerful atmosphere of my friends. We hugged, asked about each other's' lives, laughed about Gladstone's sudden and abrupt appearance. Ezio joined us, and we sat on my front porch enjoying the seventy-degree sun, and drinking lemonade straight from the hippie grocer. Leah and Emily tried not to notice how the lemonade in my glass was quavering like the water in _Jurassic Park, _or the long scars on my exposed arms and wrists that were still healing. _

_[][]_

My bread was gone. It disappointed me, seeing as I hadn't eaten anything for what felt like forever. As I pondered my lack of food, I came to the realization that I had been staring at the scars on my wrists. By now they had healed completely, leaving only raised white lines, but every time I saw them, the only thing I felt was the cold blade cutting into my skin. It was necessary. I knew this, I had known it then. But for some reason it was something I couldn't push away.

_[] April 28, 2013 []_

_It sat across from me. It was playing with my mind. It was teasing me with images. It showed me Desmond's face. It flashed me pictures of my blood on the walls. It draped beauty and wonder over my eyes. It shone golden. It blinded me to the real world. It showed me exotic retreats. It told me of the deaths of my ancestors. It screamed at me, and dragged me in, and told me lies, and told me truths, and told me what would come and what had pas—_

_I jumped to my feet and swept my hand violently across my desk. The Apple went tumbling away, hitting my white floor with a _thump _and rolled a couple more feet before coming to an uneasy halt. Collapsing, I let the tears run freely. The door practically slammed open, and I could feel Ezio's eyes running across the room, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. He might not have understood completely, but he understood enough. It wouldn't matter what he did to comfort me, or how many soothing words he murmured or tender embraces he gave. I was too far gone already._

_[][]_

Leonardo's voice jerked me from my reverie.

"So, how do you know Ezio?" It was small talk, but it was small talk from Leonardo da Vinci, for God's sake, I might as well answer.

"Oh, um . . . I'm just a friend of his." I said lamely. Obviously, my clothes probably raised a few good questions, but Leo was smart enough not to inquire.

"Ah." I could tell he was still intensely curious, but he let sleeping dogs lie, like the genius he is.

Not feeling like talking, I curled into a ball in the large chair I was in and closed my eyes, willing for myself to sleep, in this strange house, with these strange memories, in this strange time.

[…]

A slamming door jerked me out of my blissful slumber. Distantly, I heard Leonardo' voice, rushed and somewhat panicked. Something was wrong—something was very wrong. Adrenaline gently nudged me out of my sleep, giving me words of advice and encouragement as I forced my eyes to open, observing the workshop. There was Ezio, standing in the doorway, with a hand on his hip like he had a stitch in his side from running too long. Leo's piece was looking almost finished, at least to my eyes, and I wondered how long I had been sleeping. There was a large, wooly blanket on top of me. Levering myself drowsily from the warmth, an offending odor assaulted my nose. It was heavy, and coppery, and did not fit into the laid-back, artsy atmosphere at all.

Then I realized why Ezio was holding his side. It wasn't from a stitch—he was hurt. He was hurt very bad. Crimson stained the pure white of his robes, making the blood stand out all the more. My entire body began to quake at the sight. I hadn't encountered this amount of blood since my time at Abstergo, and . . . it wasn't . . . I was . . .

I tried to stand up, to help Leo help Ezio, but as soon as I put weight on my feet darkness swarmed in on me, and the last thing I saw were crimson specks on the floor.


	4. White Rabbit

**Chapter 4**

**Dear dancers in the dark,**

**I'm starting to like these openings.**

**Well, my birfday is coming up…****SO THIS IS AN EXTRA AWESOME CHAPTER..****..REVIEW! That's my only present that I want from you guys. Pweese? Pwitty pwitty pweese?**

**And LISTEN TO THE SONG IN THIS CHAPTER IT REALLY ADDS TO THE MOOOOOOD! XD Especially during the forest scene. Imagine her walking in slow motion.**

**Sincerely,**

**AF**

**Song: The Wolf, Fever Ray**

"**And mixed poison, and mixed blood,**

**And big fire, big burn, into the ashes and no return."**

I had taken swimming lessons as a kid. All the way up until I was in my freshman year. By the end of all those summers I was the best swimmer around. Competitions never interested me, or school dealios, but I still kept up with my education, eventually becoming a life guard helper thing . . . well, as close to a lifeguard as you could get without a license.

It was like I was back in those swimming lessons, back in the old pool with the sarcastic, grudgingly hilarious college-age lifeguards.

I was swimming in darkness, but not just unconsciousness. It felt as though I were suspended in a jelly, or some sort of viscous liquid. I could still breathe, but whatever I was stuck in didn't feel like air at all. Curiosity overcoming terror, I cautiously made my way forward, clawing at the light-consuming gel. There was no feel, or scent, smell, or taste to the stuff. The best comparison I could come up with was if the air were Jell-O that was water-flavored. With black food coloring.

It was hard to see very far ahead, so I was more or less floundering around in the dark. How long I did this, I didn't know, or care. It could have been five minutes, or five years, or five millennia for all I cared. It was so peaceful here . . . maybe—just maybe—this was what all of that was for . . . now I can just float, without a care in the world . . .

A bubbly sigh escaped my lips, making huge silvery spheres freeze themselves in the gel above me. I did a backstroke, leisurely rolling my arms around and gliding through the jelly. Only now did I realize that I was completely naked, but for some reason this concerned me very little. Who cared, now? I was all alone, in blissful oblivion. Yawning, my eye caught something that didn't quite fit with the silent, black, gelatinous background. It was glowing, and I flipped back onto my feet, walking toward the golden glow in slow motion. It became slightly clearer as I approached, more round and textured. My mind slowly wrapped around the identification of the object. A silent scream escaped my throat, more bubbles stopping in place once they left my mouth. I backpedaled furiously, but it was like trying to escape something that was tied to me. The Apple didn't get any further away, and it's growing power was becoming painfully apparent.

It was like I had never been to swimming lessons. My arms flailed wildly, gaining no purchase on the substance behind me. Out of nowhere, and with no warning, a horrid screeching rung through the space, but there was something blocking my hands from holding my ears. The sound ground excruciatingly against my eardrums, making insubstantial tears squeeze from my tear ducts. The Apple was getting steadily closer, and harder and harder to ignore. Finally, after what I was positive was about a thousand years, the Piece touched my arm.

The wailing spiked, high-pitched now and like needles. The sides of my face were hot from blood. I wept and writhed, looking like a snake with its tail under a spike. But there was no getting away from the sound, no escape—and it struck me that I was going to die here, all alone and amidst this whining and darkness—

[…]

My eyes flickered open, soft grass gently tickling my lashes. My breath came quick and excited, still slowing from the adrenaline of my burning nightmare. The smell of roses and honey teased me, dancing under my nose before drifting away. Blinking in confusion, I righted myself, wondering what had just happened and where the Apple and the black Jell-O had gone.

I was in a small, green clearing about two hundred meters in diameter. I was wearing clothes now, a white dress that cut off about mid-thigh and fluffed like it had hoops. My shoes were horrendously tall, but surprisingly steady on the grass. My outfit had a slightly Lolita/gothic feel to it, but my hair had remained its same stupid milk chocolate color. However, it _had _been curled into tight ringlets. Stumbling forward, I found that I had been at the very edge of the clearing, which was lined with trees so tightly packed that there was literally no room between trunks. The place had the _feel _of being cheery, but there was something about the place that didn't feel all that benevolent.

The grass had a faintly minty scent to it, and the fumes made my head spin slightly. As I glanced down to observe it (and noted that it looked more like a close relative to moss), my eyes tracked tiny cupcakes waddling through the green, some with chocolate sprinkles, some with pink frosting, and one that looked like a yellow smiley face from directly above. They varied in size, from as tiny as a ladybug to as large as a cake. They had tiny stubby legs, or long spindly legs, or little fluttering wings. Smiling, I reached down and grabbed a cupcake about the size of a grapefruit that had a rainbow intricately painted across its back. It squeaked happily and leapt charismatically toward my mouth, as if it _wanted_ me to eat it. I dropped my jaw at the last second—getting purple frosting on my chin from the rainbow bottom—and snapped my teeth down over the little pastry.

It was like eating the essence of awesome. It had to be the greatest cupcake I'd ever had in my entire life, hands down. Wiping off my chin, I picked up the rest of my little cake and walked toward a long table that had appeared while I was preoccupied with eating my piece of heaven—and I wasn't the only one here anymore.

Trying to avoid stepping on any cupcakes, I jogged to the table, which wasn't easy in those goddamned shoes. There was an open chair, which I sat in carefully, as if it were wired with a bomb. There were decorative ceramic plates on the table, which sported little treats, at least fifty percent of which were covered in powdered sugar. Little dainty cups sat in front of every seat, filled with tea that looked more like milk, there was so much creamer. The crawling cupcakes had climbed up the long, lacy tablecloth and were in the process of covering every inch of the table's surface area. I nibbled plaintively on my rainbow cupcake while the others talked and greeted me.

Leo was the most flamboyant. "Welcome, _amico mio!_" He cried. "Look at these little creatures, Anna!" He gestured excitedly to the cupcakes. "Aren't they just the most fascinating little things?" For some reason, big floppy dog ears hung out from under his red hat, a fluffy tail wagging back and forth happily.

Before I could reply, a tiny dormouse skittered in front of me, one that had an asymmetrical tuft of blond hair adorning it's tiny head. Little Emily, in the form of a dormouse.

"Hey Anna!" She yelled/squeaked up at me. "Guess what!"

"What?"

"Never trust puzzle pieces!" She laughed madly and tittered away on her little legs, carrying a miniscule cupcake with her.

At the other end of the table sat a young Italian Assassin wearing an oversized top hat and a ripped, tie-dyed tuxedo. Two blades were on either of his wrists, but as he shot them in and out, I saw that the blade was cardboard spray-painted grey. He smiled invitingly at me. "Anna, _amore, _so nice of you to join us. We were waiting for you." His forwardness set off a few alarms, but I drowned them in a tentative sip of foggy tea, which tasted—surprisingly—like very strong earl grey, my absolute favorite.

I looked around at the rest of the table. Lucy sat a couple seats down from me, to my left—she looked queenly in a silky red and white striped gown. A small gold crown was balanced on her blond bun, rubies and diamonds glittering teasingly. Sitting across from her was Desmond, a small pair of white ears poking out from his short, dark hair. A fancy-looking pocket watch dangled carelessly out of his waistcoat pocket. He looked perfectly content, but then I looked into his eyes and my heart ripped in half all over again.

His eyes were so sad, the usually molten gold icing over into freezing copper. Taking a shaky breath, I looked away and observed the rest of the table.

A smoky cloud that looked suspiciously like fur swirled around my head, gradually forming into a grinning mouth, a flicking tail, and a large black-and-green-striped body. Leah, starring as the Cheshire Cat, whirled mischievously in circles around me.

"Where did _you _come from, Anna?" She asked, seeming very sane. "_You _weren't supposed to be here yet." Sighing moodily, she swooped down and nabbed up a cupcake the looked like a little rodent of some sort before floating back up to hover next to my head.

"What do you mean?" I asked, perplexed and slightly panicked. "Do you mean that I'm . . . _dead_?" I whispered the last word.

"Oh, no, you aren't _dead." _I held back a sigh of relief.

"Not quite, at least." She added thoughtfully. "I guess this is a bit of a limbo. You are so hurt, Anna, on the inside. Your mind has been damaged very badly."

She wasn't sounding like herself at all. My mind was getting more and more muddled with every passing moment, and more cupcakes were starting to fly. The trees on the outside of the clearing were beginning to waver.

"Wait, Leah, what are you talking about?" I asked frantically. "What's happening to me?"

She smiled a sharp smile, her tail already disappearing. "Stay away from your time at Abstergo, A."

"What does that even mean?" I screamed. My frustration was boiling over, accompanied my panic as I noticed that everyone but us two were gone, and the cupcakes misting away.

More clever smiling. "You have to figure that out yourself, Anna." She was completely gone now, only a wide, razor-toothed grin hovering next to my half-eaten rainbow cupcake. The mouth moved around, as if her invisible eyes were looking at the disappearing landscape, and in a sing-song voice said, "See you soon . . ." And then the smile disappeared completely.

Insanely colored cupcakes flickered before my eyes, along with fleeting images of a pocket watch, dark hair, an oversized top hat, a sharp smile, and the words not to trust pieces of a puzzle. Darkness consumed me, then a bright light that forced me to shield my eyes, and when I opened them I was already hurtling into the light.

[…]

It looked like the forest surrounding the tea party. The trees were dense and dark, the branches prickly and low. Something howled in the distance—it sounded like a wolf. Pine needles crunched under my booted feet, rodents diving fearfully into their holes. Moonlight shone down morosely through the scraggly branches, giving me something to see with, but not much.

I had gone through yet another costume change, this time aiming for the hunter. My outfit was all practicality, with leather bracers and a large, wicked-looking knife at my belt. Glass vials of herbs were strapped securely next to it, and the tip of a bow peeked out from my back. Over my shoulder, white-feathered arrows rested in their quiver. My hair was tied back in a ponytail with a long cord.

Seeing nothing else to do, I started walking forward, not even bothering with the bow. No idea how to use it, anyway. What would I do if a bear found me? Smack it? I marched on, branches snapping under my feet as I walked toward . . . well, I don't know where I was going. But something was tugging me, pulling me deeper into the forest. My head lolled on my neck like I was possessed, but I could still tell exactly the direction I was supposed to be heading. I was growling something in a smooth yet guttural language that I thought I had heard before, but had never spoken. My body was shaking violently, almost too violently to stay on my feet, but I kept right on walking. A bitter taste flooded my mouth—it was too coppery to be saliva.

As I walked, I became aware of the growing darkness. It was deep and black, but not nearly as empty as the dream with the Apple. Moonlight shone angelically from through the sharp-branched trees.

How long I walked, I didn't know. Time was passing, that much I knew. I could feel it, inching slowly past while I was stuck in this . . . half-possession. My mind was moving slowly as well, not comprehending thoughts as fast as I would like. A flicker of gold drew my slow gaze off to the side, but by the time my eyes had caught up to the glow it was gone, and my foot caught the corner of a branch—and suddenly I was tumbling, falling down, down the rabbit hole.

My arms flailed uselessly at my sides as I tried to grab a root, a stick, anything—but I already knew how this story went. So I waited. I lay out in the air on my back, with my arms behind my head and my knees crossed. Bits of dirt and dust flew past me in a constant sort of mist, along with all sorts of other shit like grandfather clocks, teddy bears, and bookcases. Once a piano came soaring up next to me, and I eagerly doggy-paddled to it so I could play on it for a while before it flew away again. I had learned to play piano at my aunt's house as a kid, but had never bothered to spend all the money to buy a nice piano of my own. The one that was in the hole with me was very nice, though, probably thousands of dollars. It felt like real ivory keys.

After quite a while, I saw the end of the tunnel. It looked like a giant, overstuffed cushion. Grinning at the prospect of landing in the fluffy thin, I folded in my arms and legs so I would fall faster. As I fell closer, however, the surface of the pillow wavered. At the very last second, it disappeared completely, revealing a golden, carved, very solid floor. It was the exact surface of the Apple, spread flat, complete with horizontal and vertical grooves.

There was nothing I could do but scream, and blinding pain hit me before I blacked out again.

[…]

I jerked upright with a gasp. There was a cry of surprise and a presence jerked away from me, an odd dash of water splashing across my cheek.

Leo's face was looking down at me worriedly. He had a wet cloth in one hand—it was stained with bright red blood. I glanced around the tiny room I was in. The only items of furniture were a small bed, in which I was laying, a little end table next to me, on top of which was a washbasin and a small pile of wet cloths. A little window let in a block of golden sunlight, reminding me painfully of my nightmare.

The small wooden door at the other end of the room opened to reveal Ezio, wearing nothing but his cloth pants, a single hidden blade, a sultan's knife at his hip, and rough leather boots. A fine grazing of stubble shadowed his face. Bandages were wrapped around his midsection, all the way from his waist to his chest. There was no blood on those bandages. How . . . how long was I asleep?

Blinking quickly, I turned to Leo to ask how long I had been out, but the only thing that came from my throat was a dry cough and a wheeze. Swallowing burning breaths of air, I snatched up the glass of water Leo procured from nowhere and slammed it. Coughing some more, I turned and looked between the two concerned-looking men in the room.

"How long was I sleeping? I want the truth." I stated bluntly, almost forcefully. I was in no mood for beating around the bush.

Leo turned, and he and Ezio exchanged a quick look, almost as if to say, _should we tell her? _After a few seconds, Ezio nodded silently. Leo turned back to me, now looking tired, confused, and curious. Curious . . . why was he—

"Anna . . ." He said gently. "You have been in a coma for about a month."


	5. Disorient

**Chapter 5**

**Dear Internetians,**

**Ah HA! Surprise plot twist is surprising, no? The Game. I really liked writing the cupcake bit. But OKAY. **

**Dreams: #1 was inspired by the story and movie Red Riding Hood.**

**#2 was inspired, obviously, by Alice in Wonder land. **

**#3 was a mix of both, Red Riding at the beginning and Alice at the end.**

**We good? We good. Disclaimer. Okay! LIGHTS! CAMERA! **

**ACTION!**

**Sincerely,**

**AF**

**Song: Warning Sign, Coldplay**

"…**I've got to tell you what a state I'm in. I've got to**

**Tell you in my loudest tones that I've been looking for a **

**Warning sign, when the truth is, I miss you…"**

My heart dropped into my stomach. "_What?" _I asked, completely incredulous. Another bout of coughing hit me, and it felt like my insides were collapsing into themselves. Flopping over so I wouldn't hit Leo, I dry heaved over the edge of the bed. Boiling tears were streaming down my cheeks. Heaving a bit more, I fell back down onto the bed, groaning at the terrible dryness in my body. It had to be from the coma. There was no way I had been given proper care, this being the 15th century and all.

I clutched my stomach, aching in both mind and body, and curled into a small ball. There was low conversation between Leo and Ezio going on, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. Ezio sounded increasingly frustrated. Leo sounded confused and very tired. I wondered if he had been the one taking care of me all this time. If so, I would need to thank him sometime, after this was all over.

The conversation went on for several minutes. After a bit of heated arguing, I heard Ezio storm out. A sigh from Leo. A squish of the wet cloth being set on the table. Quiet footsteps and the click of a door being shut.

[…]

It didn't take long for me to realize that if I stayed in that bed, I would go completely insane. Holding my stomach, I wrenched myself from the bed and fumbled my way out into the main workshop. Leo was gently mixing a dark-themed palette, while Ezio slumbered in a chair, a small, discontented frown on his scarred face. Yawning, I took a step forward, tripped and instantly faceplanted. I guess my legs weren't as used to standing as I had thought. Of course, this immediately alerted Leo, who rushed over, chastising me sharply (at least, sharply for Leonardo) about getting up. Ezio was still sleeping, however. He must not have gotten much sleep. Maybe he had stayed up late every night to see if I woke during sleeping hours. The thought made me happy, yet sad. I didn't want him sacrificing his well-being for me.

"Leonardo . . ." I grumbled as the artist helped me back into the bed. If he was surprised I knew his name, he hid it very well. "Where's . . . the golden globe I asked to look at . . . when I first got here?"

"It is in a cupboard, hidden behind a loaf of bread, _amico mio._" He replied patiently. Talking to me must be like talking to a mental patient at this point. "Why do you ask?"

"I want . . ." I coughed viciously, my stomach hurting terribly and as cripplingly dry as a desert sun. "to take another look at it."

After making sure I was securely beneath my blankets and supplied with water, Leo rushed off to let me see it. He had to be one of the most polite, hospitable people I had ever met. It was like nothing offended him or bothered him at all.

My eyes felt heavy, but every time I closed them it seared my eyelids. So I lay there, waiting for Leo to get back. When he did, I eagerly took the Apple and politely asked him to leave for a moment. It wasn't an easy thing to do, or convince him to do, mostly because I was a total stranger, but I did have a clever tongue. Eventually, he left, telling me that I had until he was done with his painting, after which he wished to study it some more. I nodded, and then I was alone.

[…]

I looked deep into the Apple, telling it exactly what I wanted. Gasping at the dryness of my throat, more coughs racked through me. Tears wanted to come out, but I was an empty husk. Maybe I was too dead inside, or maybe I had dried myself out of tears. It was a shame I couldn't talk to Ezio one last time, smell his warm, sunny roguish, comforting scent, or feel his loving embrace. My heart was breaking; I could feel it, ripping apart inside of my parched ribcage.

Through my silent weeping, my intent became distorted. Many things flew through my mind—people, places, ideas, concepts, feelings, all relating to . . . everything that had happened to me over the past year. Breathing heavily, I gave the globe a quick squeeze, trying to keep track of my main goal. I needed to get out of here.

Goodbyes were not going to happen. It needed to be a quick cut, a clean slice. Less pain that way.

Gold light exploded from the Apple, whirling in streams and beams. I closed my eyes, my weak arms overwhelmed by the power of the Piece. In one of the oldest clichés ever, my left hand (the one holding the Apple), fell over the edge of the bed, letting the Apple tumble away and roll across the width of the room. I thought I felt myself moving, whirling away, back into my own time.

But there were voices there, as well. My last snatches of voice from Ezio and Leo, alerted by the light and thump of the Apple against the floor. My chest spasmed, my invisible tears still falling. I tried to see what was going on around me, but more sleep was closing in. After my recent dreams, the last thing I wanted to do was sleep. Then I remembered that it was normal o pass out when using the Piece, so I let unconsciousness take me for what felt like the millionth time.


	6. Dead On My Feet

**Chapter 6**

**Dear voters,**

**I'm not going to disclose any information about my decision on the votes. Just know that it has been made. **

**But anyway, I am like super sick today so review please to make me feel better. :3 **

**Sincerely,**

**AF**

**Song: My Best Dress, Florence + The Machine**

"**You look so angry when you sleep, your face a troubled frown**

**So I will smooth your furrowed brow as I lay you in the ground**

**I'll kiss you once for life; I'll kiss you twice for death**

**I'll hold you close for comfort, wearing my best dress."**

I felt very limp. I couldn't seem to move, not even to open my eyelids. I could feel where I was, however. I felt my rough, sandpaper-like carpet underneath me. There was quiet movement near me. Gladstone. I wanted to go pet him, but there were several problems. One, I couldn't move. Two, I couldn't see. So I remained in this sort of half-sleep, aware but not awake. Helpless, no doubt due to the absurd amount of power I had used to get home, I lay there and waited for my body to recover.

Something felt wrong. This didn't quiet smell like my house. Mine had more of an incense/good cooking smell to it. This had the scent of oily paints and musty tarps. There was more hurried movement to my left. I wanted to get up so bad, but I had no choice.

The scents were fading away. That's odd . . . but . . . now I couldn't feel the scratchy carpet. Total numbness enveloped me. It wasn't me anymore; I was looking down at my sleeping figure. Not to brag, but she looked rather goddess-like. A white sheet was draped over her body, from her collarbone to her ankles. Her hands were folded angelically over her heart. Her hair was set with great care on the pillow, the milk chocolate brushed to a silky smooth. A small frown adorned her lips. Now I was referring to myself in third person, I really must be dying.

She lay not on carpet, but on a small, familiar bed. _I botched the job. _So much for getting myself back home. Leonardo was next to her, looking very somber. There was no one else—oh . . . no. He was not alone. There, elbows on knees and head in hands, in a rickety old chair in the corner, sat Ezio.

He looked frozen. For several minutes, all I did was stare. If I was able to cry, I would have. He looked absolutely miserable. Hair fell carelessly in front of his eyes, the latter of which were bloodshot and empty. After a few silent minutes, he said something that was muted to me. Leo turned around, looking close to tears. He put a hand on Ezio's shoulder, nodding while saying something that (to my terrible lip-reading skills) looked like encouragement. The Assassin put a hand over his eyes, the words obviously just making him feel worse.

I carefully lowered myself down beside him. I put my hand against his extra-stubbly cheek, which was a pointless effort; I couldn't feel it anyway. Pushing off of the ground, I floated up delicately and sat on his shoulder. For a moment, a single split second, he looked over at me, looked directly at my knee. But then, seeing nothing, his gaze fell lifelessly back to the floor. I twined my fingers and laid my chin on the top of Ezio's head, waiting to fall out of limbo.

The door leading to workshop opened tentatively. I was confused—who else is here? A beak-masked doctor that arrived too late? A priest to bless the body or something? Well-wishers and sympathetic friends? No, the word couldn't have gotten around that easily, and if it had, no one would care; only Ezio and Leonardo knew me here, and only Ezio wa—had been—close to me. The door opened all the way, and a figure stumbled in. My nonexistent breath caught.

Desmond.

Launching myself from Ezio, I circled delicately around Desmond, who was staring at everything with a look of disbelief. His eyes fell on the body, with her gracefully sad position on the bed. Ezio's presence didn't seem to bother him much. His lips formed my name incredulously. He turned to look at Ezio, yelling something. The Assassin looked to Leo beseechingly, the latter of whom was speaking coolly and making calming motions with his hands. Desmond was panicking, which was understandable. He looked back at the still-open door, the confusion on his face reaching sky high levels. He then looked back at my body, but my curiosity had now peaked.

I floated through the wall (which felt like walking through a wall of very thick spiderwebs) and into the workshop.

There they were. It was like a hallucination, a horrible nightmare strangely combined with the most fantastical dream my mind could think up. A couple I hadn't seen in person yet. One was sarcastic, another was tech savvy, yet another was bitter and missing something vital. Four were women, two with black hair. They all seemed just as confused as Desmond looked, and they surveying each other with guarded suspicion, some with weapons drawn, for the exception of two. The couple stared in disbelief, and for the sake of their happiness (however temporary it was sure to be) I prayed that they hadn't remembered anything from Abstergo. My mind boggled too far even in death, I fell back through the wall to see Desmond kneeling at her bedside.

One of his hands was gently brushing over a lock of her hair. Leo removed his hat respectfully, while Ezio simply retreated into himself, not moved an inch from the chair. Desmond shook his head mindlessly, trying to deny what he knew was true. Silent tears rolled ceaselessly down his patchily shaven cheeks.

That was too much. I walked away, going through walls and pavement, down into the crust of the earth to brood for a bit. I folded into myself like Ezio, not bearing to face the world and the mistakes that I had made in it. If I was really dead, then there was no reason for me to bother myself with mortal doings. I can do whatever the fuck I want. Closing my somewhat figurative eyes, I was about to go into a nice sleep that could last a few years when something pulled on my ribcage. Not just a feeling . . . it literally felt like someone had tied a large, thick rope around my ribs and was pulling as hard as they could. Getting up, I leapt about six dozen yards and ran back into the workshop, then back into the room where she still lay on the bed.

The last thing my undead eyes saw was Desmond looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He stood, looking curiously at the golden globe in his hands, but then I was thrown into her and darkness took me—I gladly accepted it.

[...]

My breath came in big gulps, taking in all the oxygen I could. My body quaked violently, and my skin was icy cold. I still lay on that old bed, but . . . that didn't make sense, wasn't I supposed to be at home? Looking around the room, I saw an astonished Leo, Ezio, and . . . well, looks like I botched the job. Again. A sudden wave of hopelessness encased me, so with a small wail I dove under the soft sheet that was draped over my (why in blue blazes was I naked?) body. Warm hands comforted me, and I heard quiet talk say something about warm clothes. Someone sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Anna . . . _amico mio, _I need you to talk to me." Leo, of course. He would want to interrogate me, in the most scientific definition of the word. I poked my head from the chin up out of the blankets to peer at him. "Anna, what happened?"

Such a simple question. The problem was, I didn't know. All I could remember was picking up the Apple, but then everything went dark. My memory just blanked out until I woke up a few minutes ago.

Breathing deeply, I replied, "I can't remember, Leonardo. I just can't." How desperately I wanted to tell this poor genius the truth about the Apple! But I couldn't, it would be just . . . no, he can try to figure it all out himself, unless I didn't pay attention during the game and he never does.

Ezio walked back into the room with a pair of clothes exactly like the ones I had been wearing before mine mysteriously disappeared. The Assassin glanced at Desmond, who was staring at me with a rather disconcerting intensity. He was holding the Apple—oh, okay, so he found the Apple, unintentionally brought me back to life. I had no idea the Apple could even do that . . . hm.

As I grabbed the clothes out of a shell-shocked Ezio's hands, I heard voices from the workshop, most happy, some sounding more confused. Oh, God, what in the world was going on . . . whatever it was, I hope none of Leo's art gets hurt. That last painting he was doing looked really nice.

After changing quickly underneath the sheet, I carefully got out of bed, Leo generously offering me his arm to lean on, as both the other men in the room were simply staring. Leonardo seemed much more able to deal with people in general. He helped me out of the room, Desmond and Ezio trailing, dazed, behind us. We stepped out into the main workshop, and I literally felt my heart stop for a few seconds before jump-starting again.

It wasn't just Desmond who had come here. Lucy, Altaïr, and Akilina were greeting each other politely, the latter two more warmly then Lucy. Shaun and Rebecca were attempting to get Lucy's attention, and Maria was glaring quietly at Altaïr and Akilina. Malik was inspecting the now-finished painting with fascination, touching a whip of dark paint with a finger. None of them were paying any attention to me yet.

I let out a shaky breath, sitting down heavily in a chair conveniently placed near the door. Leo let go of my arm, wandering off and muttering something about finding food. I looked out at the gathered crowd with exasperation, my body feeling heavy and dead. Sighing, I heard Leo come back, the clink of a dish and the scuff of bread hitting the table infiltrating my ears. Picking up the bread, I crunched it in my hands, if only to reassure myself that something was real in this world. I could feel eyes on me, who's, I didn't know, but I closed my own and tried to sleep. It didn't take long, and I dozed off with the bread corner still in my hand.


	7. Introductions

**Chapter 7**

**Dear readers,**

**SURPRISE! **

**There's nothing to say except that I've put AC off of the stove for a while. Not even a backburner anymore. It saddens me, but it's true. I'm hitting a bit of writer's block with my book, so I'm working on this for old time's sake. Also, happy birthday to Tori! This chapter is dedicated to you, my dear friend. Not to mention AC: Revelations is coming out in November, a realization that almost made me shit my pants. XD**

**Much love,**

**AF**

**Song: Mad World, Gary Jules**

"**All around me are familiar faces, worn-out places,**

**Worn-out faces. Bright and early for the daily races,**

**Going nowhere, going nowhere."**

Someone was shaking me awake. A warm hand on my shoulder, gently moving me back and forth until I jolted out of unconsciousness. Groaning, I nuzzled my face into my other shoulder, too tired to realize that it wasn't actually the other shoulder, but the mystery hand. Embarrassed, I flopped away, the hand pulling away like lightning, as though burned. I rubbed my cheeks with the tips of my fingers, yawned, popped my neck, and opened my eyes.

It was Desmond. He was standing back, looking at me in a detached sort of way, almost warily. His brow was furrowed slightly, frozen brass regarding me quietly. Unable to meet his gaze, I dropped my eyes, just in time to see him look away as well.

"Leonardo wants you awake . . ." He said, trying painfully hard not to make eye contact with me. "He doesn't know who everyone is and he hopes you could help him."

I nodded slowly and stood up. Everyone was in the main workshop, milling about. They seemed to be focused mostly on Leonardo, who was weakly attempting to give out instructions to the crowd. As I stood, the artist beckoned me over, looking very frazzled, his blond hair in disarray. I glanced at Desmond for a split second before joining everyone else.

"Okay, artist, what do you need answering?" I asked Leonardo, rubbing the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. "Please tell me you have coffee . . ." At Leonardo's confused expression, I made a "continue" gesture with my hand.

"_Mio amico, _I want simply to know who all these people are and how they got into my workshop." He sighed. One of his hands flew out to point back and forth at Malik and Shaun. The two were in such a heated battle of sarcasm I was sure the water in the air was going to start evaporating. They couldn't even understand what the other was saying, seeing as they spoke two completely and very obviously different languages; nonetheless, it was clear they didn't care for each other and were snarking at each other hard enough that others were starting to stare. Luckily, it didn't seem like anyone had noticed me yet.

"I beg you separate these two." Leonardo pleaded, gesturing at the two sarcastic sidekicks.

I put a comforting hand on Leo's shoulder and began giving short summaries of each of the diverse characters milling about. I could almost see the mental notepad in Leonardo's genius mind filling with writing and bullet points. We needed to hurry, however, because the men and women gathered were beginning to become restless. Standing around making small talk didn't seem to be cutting it for them anymore. Lucy was admiring some of the half-finished sketches and artwork and talking mostly to herself about the quality of some it to Rebecca while the latter idly picked at some loose canvas on the corner of a portrait.

After Leonardo had a bit of a grasp of who everyone was and what language they spoke, he called for everyone's attention. Some didn't know the words, but they got the message. The seven turned to watch the suddenly awkward Leo with varying levels of interest, ranging from an enraptured Lucy to an almost bored-looking Altaïr. The artist, on the other hand, was looking as though he didn't quite know what to say now that everyone was watching him. After several moments of silence, I turned around to see Desmond and Ezio both sitting, not looking at me, each other, or the Assassins gathered. Thinking quickly, I jumped over and grabbed up Desmond and dragged him to where we were all standing.

Confused and slightly ruffled, Desmond opened his mouth to say something but I interrupted him as I brushed off the front of his sweatshirt and fixed his short hair, looking everywhere but in his eyes.

"You're the only one who can speak both Arabic and Italian fluently, Desmond, whether you know it or not so you have to be our translator." I muttered to him at lightning speed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ezio standing, the expression on his face a melting pot of emotions, but the one that I could pick out right away was unbridled murderous rage. Subconsciously, I moved so I was standing between Desmond and his ancestor.

"Just say welcome or something. Say it in all three languages." I said quietly and pushed him forward so that he was the center of attention.

There was a beat of silence, where a flushed and flustered Desmond stood in front of the seven—nine, including Leonardo and I—Assassins and civilians, presumably thinking of what to say. Altaïr was beginning to look impatient, clear due to the dangerous amount of fiddling he was doing with the switch for his hidden blade. Seeing this and noting Desmond's silence, I kicked him in the ankle relatively gently. He stumbled forward, grumbling something over his shoulder before turning back to the assembled crowd.

"Er . . . hi?" He said with a slight question to his voice. He looked back at me quickly. I raised my eyebrows, and he continued, voice cracking sharply several times before he said hi in all three languages, a feat that seemed to surprise even him.

Desmond looked back at me. I pulled him over and whispered rapidly into his ear before he nodded and turned back. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Mister Leonardo da Vinci would like to welcome you to his workshop—"

"I would?" Leo asked rather too loudly. I hushed him quickly as Desmond went on.

"—and asks you to make yourself at home. You . . . er . . . might be here a while, so . . ." He shrugged awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. "Better make some friends." He backed away anticlimactically. There were several half-questioning nods, excepting Shaun, Lucy, and Rebecca, all three of whom were staring at Leonardo at the realization of who he really was. I assumed that Rebecca, at least, had seen him on some screen connected to Desmond and the Animus, but it was a completely different experience when meeting the real deal. Speaking from personal experience, here.

I nodded. We needed to get some control around here, but for now, there was nothing we could do. Well, there was something I could do, though I still felt a bit out of synch with myself for some reason. Quietly excusing myself, I walked back into the bedroom to find the Apple sitting on the nightstand, just where I expected it to be. Picking it up gingerly with both hands, I sat of the bed and looked deep into the gold abyss.

I didn't know what had happened to me. It was a wall of black in my mind that refused to give in. In a sudden rush that could be considered an epiphany, I truly felt like Subject Sixteen for the first time. It scared me; it felt like the edges of my mind were beginning to fray, and I was just pinching them together in hopes that it would become a string again.

I snapped back into reality when I realized my nails had begun digging into the fingertips of my other hand. Sighing sadly, I placed the Apple back on the table. I stared at it for a few more minutes, and it stared back. It was more than just an object to me now. It knew me; probably better than I knew myself. That fact was such an intense, sudden feeling of sadness that I almost crumpled in on myself.

Reality again came crashing down on me as I heard a knock on the door, even though it was open. I looked up to see, with great surprise, Lucy, Shaun, Rebecca, Altaïr and Akilina. They were smiling, excepting Altaïr and Shaun; they looked mostly disinterested, the latter less so. Putting on a mask, I smiled and stood. Lucy gave me a quick embrace, as did Rebecca and Akilina.

"How are you, Anna?" Lucy asked kindly. I shrugged.

"I've been better." I turned to Altaïr and held out my hand. He sighed in distaste, but I saw the hint of a friendly smirk under his hood as he clasped my hand.

"How've you been, eagle?" I asked him, smiling as I saw his smirk morph into a small grin.

"Quite the same." He answered shortly. I grinned knowingly as I looked between Altaïr and Akilina, who were standing just a bit too close together to be friends.

We greeted each other as old friends, and before long Malik came to join the party. I made sure to keep him and Shaun a safe distance away from each other. Maria hung back slightly, but smiled when we made jokes and frowned when she looked at Altaïr.

It felt like old times in Abstergo, without the psychotic Templars and the Animus, and with Malik, Maria, Leonardo, and a whole shitload of unfinished paintings.


	8. Politics

**Yes! I live! Sorry, but I needed time to polish on my writing skills and just take a break from AC in general. But now I'm back and more obsessed than ever, so sit back and enjoy!**

**One more thing. I'm diverting from the canon. I know, blasphemy! But I'll try to set it straight in a bit, I'm just testing this out. I find fanfic to be much more enjoyable to write and to read when you don't already know the missions, conversations, etc.**

**AF**

**P.S. Revelations. Trailer. Bricks. Were shat.**

**Song: Home in Florence, Jesper Kyd**

"Ezio, what am I doing here?" I picked up the pace to match the Assassin's long strides.

"I need a new sword. Besides," He added, glancing at me with a grin. "I believe in learning on the job. Leonardo could use some practice with house guests, and this is the perfect opportunity."

I rolled my eyes. Probably not one of his most clever plans, but who knew? There might be _some _of the workshop's foundation left when we got back. Maybe. If Shaun and Malik behaved. Lord.

We were, in the most Renaissance definition of the word, out on the town. Ezio had led me through the streets of Florence to what seemed to be the richest district, every house sporting some species of greenery and a group of guards on every corner. People were just _garnished _in feathers and heavy robes, the strange styles making my eyes boggle.

By some twist of everything I trained myself to believe, Ezio had convinced me to abandon my studies of that blasted piece of gold and come shopping with him. Despite everything, I think that it was probably the only time in recorded history a straight man has ever asked a woman to come shopping with him. Ever.

"That didn't answer my question, _assassino._" I barked sarcastically, my slight limp more pronounced as I jogged to catch up. "I asked what I was doing here. Don't you think I could be of better use keeping everything under control at Leonardo's?"

"He's a grown man, Anna_._" Ezio replied, veering to the side of the road to a blacksmith that looked quite generously supplied. "I have complete faith in him."

"I just can't shake the feeling that we're going to return to a destroyed building . . ." I glanced around me in paranoia as Ezio gently picked up a long blade with a nod to the smith.

"_Bella, _you worry too much." He turned the sword over, inspecting the finish and weighing it in his hand. Ezio swung the saber to and fro, testing it, before handing a small pouch of coins to the smith and sheathing it. "Here." He unstrapped the sultan's knife from his belt and handed it to me. "If you worry so, keep this with you. It will set your mind at ease, as well as mine, knowing you have some way of defending yourself."

I hesitantly accepted the knife, gingerly holding the handle as memories of my final night in Abstergo flashed in my mind. "Ezio, as much as I would love to just go around stabbing people, I'm afraid I have no idea how to properly use this."

The Assassin shrugged. "Keep it anyway. At least with a weapon you look a bit more threatening." He started back the direction we came.

"Is that a good or bad thing . . .?" I muttered as I followed.

[…]

To my complete surprise, it was not total hell when we returned to the dusty shop. Everyone was in separate conversations, though all seemed a bit edgy. The only thing that seemed ready to spark into a fight was the tension between Altaïr and Maria. The latter was furious, and it was obvious. They were arguing quietly in Arabic, but not quietly enough, judging by the look on Malik's face. Maria seemed to be winning; as nefarious as that chick can be I had to give her some credit for standing up to Altaïr. It takes some grit to yell at a near-emotionless assassin. Akilina, on the other hand, didn't seem to know where she was supposed to be standing. Out of arm's length of Maria was probably the best option in this situation.

Ezio edged cautiously around the fuming ex-lovers, obviously as hesitant as the next guy to do anything to provoke either of them. Leonardo, Ezio, Malik, Desmond, Lucy and I converged at a table in the back in a silent agreement. Several small maps had been spread and nailed into the table, each showing the major cities from the game. Ezio splayed his hands on the rough wood, his face all business as he gazed at the lines and names.

"Templar power has been growing in not only Firenze, but Forlí and Venezia as well." His finger trailed across the inked names of the cities. "Rodrigo's supporters are getting more powerful as they continue to oppress the people. I need to travel to the other—"

"Ezio, I understand, but don't you think it would be better if we figured a way to send everyone back first?" I interjected.

"We could learn a lot here, Anna." Lucy commented. "There could be precious information about the Apple in the Renaissance that needs to be discovered." Malik rattled something off in Arabic in response, his dark brows furrowing.

"He wants to know if time still passes when we aren't there." Desmond translated. There was a general murmur of agreement at the question.

"I'm not sure." I addressed the tiny U.N. "It might, but there's no way to be sure. Either way, I think staying here is just going to confuse history even further, and that's not what we need right now."

"I do not see any harm as long as everyone was to stay here." Leo pointed out.

"You can't keep this many people secret for long, Leonardo." I said, gesturing at the rest of the room. "We need to straighten things out."

"I agree with Leonardo, Anna." Ezio argued. "The Borgia are a more immediate concern right now."

"We need to get back to our own time—"

"It doesn't matter right now!"

"Don't you yell at her, or I'll kick you right in your Italian nuts!"

"Oh, I will show you a kick, you _figlio di puttana_!"

"_Amici, _please—!"

"Quiet, Leonardo!"

"You be quiet, Anna!"

"Why don't you, blondie?"

"Sure, act like a five-year-old!"

"Desmond, this doesn't involve you!"

"I was translating Malik!"

_Crack!_

The talk was cut short as the bang faded and our gaze fell to Altaïr, who was silently glaring at us, a broken wooden beam in his hands. He muttered something threatening under his breath as he tossed the wood away and approached the table.

"He asks if this is our idea of politics." Desmond said. Altaïr glanced at him, and then continued speaking, louder now and openly addressing all of us. "We sound like children and arguing is getting us nowhere."

"You're one to talk!" I exclaimed, blood still roiling from the debate. "Not five minutes ago you were arguing with Maria!"

Altaïr's eyes glinted as Desmond translated my statement and he replied with a venomous tone in his voice. "He said that it is none of your business who he argues with and it would be best for your health if you remembered that." Desmond winced. "Jeez. Lay off, great-great-great-great-great-great-great—"

Desmond stopped and bent his head as Altaïr beckoned him. They conversed quietly in Arabic for a moment before he turned back to the rest of us. "He says it would be wisest to go with Ezio's plan, as our being here presents no immediate threat."

"Ha!"

"Oh, shut up, Ezio."

There was a moment of silence. We all looked back and forth at each other, the calm tense as the Assassins' hands dangled near their weapons. Lucy's palm rested on her futuristic nightstick, Ezio's finger resting precariously on the switch to his hidden blade. Desmond touched the half-concealed hilt of what I could only suspect was a large knife; even Altaïr, the sort-of diplomat, was drumming his long fingers against the eagle head on his sword.

I could not help but feel like I had been stuck in the middle of a tornado and the only way to get out was to get brutally killed. My mind floated back to weird things as the silence grew more pregnant. Strategies for speaking in public. Why? Who knows? My mind was scrambled. What was it again? Oh yeah, imagine them in their underwear. I glanced up at Ezio, and an image of him in white boxers with red hearts, dancing to the song "Ghostride The Whip", flashed behind my lids. _Sweet mother of God._

Breaking the silence, I burst out laughing, startling the Assassins into drawing their weapons before realizing it was just me being insane. _It's okay. She held that device too long. Don't mind her. She's my ex-wife's cousin's stepfather's uncle's brother's best friend's niece. Very distant. Hardly know her at all, actually. _

They stayed quiet for a moment more, before Lucy laughed slightly, seemingly for no reason. Leonardo cracked a grin, and before I knew it we were all guffawing heartily, the stress of the minute before forgotten. Lucy, Desmond, Altaïr and Malik retreated back to their social groups as Ezio elaborated on his plan, all with small smiles on their faces. Even Altaïr.

[…]

"As I was saying," Ezio said, finger tapping the name _Forl__í_. "The Borgia are growing in power. I believe that if I remove one of Rodrigo's main supporters, the people may come to their senses, and if not, then no harm has been done and the Spaniard loses an ally."

"It sounds like a plan, but you need to be wary of who you go after, Ezio." Leonardo warned. "If you take out someone too prominent, Rodrigo may panic and retreat to recover his loss before returning; we will gain no ground at all. But, if you pick someone too low on his ladder of supporters, you may come to the same conclusion."

I frowned. "Who do you intend on assassinating?"

"A man by the name Braulio Mancini." Ezio replied, looking up at me.

"Ah!" Leonardo exclaimed, raising a finger. "I have heard of him. He was recently under the employment of a rather pompous nobleman in Venezia, but due to some . . . _complications _with the nobleman's daughter and Mancini, the latter was brutally expelled from Venice and now resides in Forlí."

Ezio nodded. "_Si, _though he still quite active as a political figure." He stood with a flip of the cape, practically glowing with manliness.

I plopped myself down on a nearby chair, pretending to wave a little flag. "Go get 'em, son." I cheered tonelessly. "I'll hold the fort with the genius artist, the quarreling lovers, the sarcastic sidekicks and the miscellaneous others. Oh yeah, and the Apple."


	9. It's Time

**I'm glad you guys are finding time for lil' ol' me. Please keep reviewing, and I'll keep updating! This is a short chapter but I like it nonetheless. **

**AF**

**Song: Werewolf, Cat Power**

Light taps broke the musty silence at a steady rate. The caramel-colored wood was rough against the tips of my fingers as I gently rapped them against the table. The others were in the workshop, as per usual, but they were so restless I was just waiting for someone to make a run for the door. My top candidates so far were Altaïr, Desmond and Akilina, in that order. However, I was fully prepared for just such a situation. That was a lie; if someone tried to get out I would do nothing but pray that nothing catastrophic happened to the future. Although, as of yet no one had made such attempt and I was alone with the Apple. It was being especially difficult to read. Sometimes it was like an open book written in a different language. Some words you could get the gist of, then those words began to take on more familiar shapes until you could almost make them out, but then it was all yanked away and you were forced to restart with nothing more than a faded half-memory. Then there were other times when it was written in the language of another planet and it made no bloody sense, so I could do nothing but stare at the alien symbols and wait for them to turn into words. This, this step, was where everything began to slip. It all tore at my brain, slowly, like acid corroding metal. Some force began to twist the things I knew as fact into doubt and fear, but also beautiful simplicity.

Hitler was evil. A truth, something I used to believe as solid fact with little room for controversy. Was he? Yes, he used th . . . but it wasn't evil, was it? Could it be? Yes. Who had he fought for? Templars? Were they evil? Yes, but the trick was looking at it from above. Take the neutral side.

If you go with one faction, it inevitably turns into philosophy. Should you mix the Apple into that equation, the philosophy turns into a question of what's real, and eventually, what your mind can comprehend. Then it turns into what your mind can handle.

What it can handle before it all slips.

[…]

_Crash!_

I very nearly tumbled from my chair at the sudden shattering. Pushing back the wooden stool, I marched into the main room to see what the ruckus was.

My mouth fell open at the sight laid out before me. Several large canvases had fallen across the workshop floor, a hundred different colors of paint smeared around the area. Palettes, brushes, tiny models of inventions, and huge scraps of paper were tossed and broken across the workshop. In the center of it all, observed by a horrified Leo, was a fist fight for the ages, featuring none other than Altaïr and Desmond. They flung about, landing punches and slaps, but no one looked too injured, unless one was to count Leonardo. He looked scarred for life. Akilina and Maria, bless them, were trying in vain to tear the relatives apart. The others seemed to be mostly helpless, except for Rebecca, who was enthusiastically cheering on the fight; from what I could tell, she was on Altaïr's side.

The two broke apart for a brief moment. Desmond' s mouth hung open slightly, teeth gleaming in a half grin, half wince. The Assassin across from him had a face of stone, though beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. He flicked his hidden blade in and out, taunting Desmond. The latter glanced at the blade, and in a whirl of white cloth they clashed together again, smashing across the already torn-apart room. I pushed my way past a sour-looking Malik and into the thick of the fight. Not my best idea, granted, but I was feeling a bit dazed and quite irritated at being interrupted mid-ponder, so barging exposed-jugular first into a fight between trained killers could probably be considered rational by the insane. Wait . . . what?

Abandoning all common sense, I shoved my way between the two and put my hands on their shoulders, attempting to push them apart. I might as well have tried to make an elevator do a tap dance. However, they did stop fighting for the moment to observe the lunatic jammed between them.

"Just stop, you guys." I sighed, attempting to play the peacemaker. "If for no other reason than to stop Leonardo from going into cardiac arrest."

We three simultaneously glanced over at the inventor, who seemed close to tears as he looked across his partially destroyed workshop. They both relaxed slightly, and I shoved them apart, using literally all my strength. Akilina moved forward, cautiously skirting around a simmering Maria, and slipped her hands around Altaïr's arm, gently tugging at him with a couple whispered words in Russian. The Assassin let himself to be led away with only one murderous glance at Desmond. I clamped my hand down on Desmond's hood and dragged him mercilessly into my little room with the Apple, slamming the door shut behind us.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Desmond?" I demanded. "Don't you think we have enough to deal with around here without you starting fights?"

"He started it." Desmond sniffed in his defense. "I just bumped into the twitchy bastard."

"You descended from him, Desmond."

"That doesn't mean I have to like him."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "Don't you think you . . ." I trailed off, my gaze falling to the Apple. My thoughts fell away, the golden orb consuming me, my mind, my intentions . . . nothing mattered . . . it was all just . . . trivial . . .

"Anna?" Someone shook me, and my eyes snapped away from the . . . _it. _Desmond frowned down at me, concern scrawled across his features. "Are you okay?"

I shook myself, blinking several times. "Yeah, yeah . . . I'm just a bit tired."

Desmond looked down at the Apple, then back up to me. "Maybe Leonardo should hold onto—"

My hand clamped down on the Apple. "It's fine." I said curtly. A blotch of red drew my gaze, away from the artifact in my hand and to Desmond's chin. A drop of blood was racing down his jaw, sprouting from a really awful looking split lip. I found my spare hand reaching up to brush the large drop away. Desmond looked stricken, in a terrified way.

I stared at the drop on my fingertip, the dim candlelight reflecting off the shining scarlet. I was transfixed, as unable to look away as I was unable to live on only desert sand. The blood jolted and ran down the palm of my hand and my arm, leaving a long ribbon of scarlet on my wrist. My eyes began to burn from not blinking, but it seemed . . . trivial. I ran a finger along the blood trail, smearing it onto the pale skin of my forearm.

A warm hand fell onto my shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay, Anna?" Desmond.

"Perfect." I replied, turning to smile up at him. "But get out."

"What?"

"You heard me." I pushed him towards the door, which I grabbed and swung open. "I need to think. Come back in about seventy-two hours."

"Anna, what the f—" The heavy wooden door fell shut, muting the rest of the sentence.

Still smiling, I walked to the other end of the room and collapsed on the bed, the Apple held tightly in my hands._ Terrible thing, cabin fever. _I thought absently, curling up on the twisted, thin sheets.There was a tiny window a foot or so from the bed. At the correct angle, I could look out into the clear night sky. I could see the moon. I could see the stars.

[…]

_Stars. There were quite a lot of them. In fact, most of my vision was obscured by white dots against a pitch-black background. Miniscule little things, simply littered across my gaze. Except for one, a large glowing sphere directly above me. A red cross flickered and faded, a symbol I knew from somewhere but forgot the minute it vanished. A hairline fracture arched across the sky above. _

_Someone tapped my shoulder. A dance? Of course, good sir. The man swung me in by the hand almost instantly, a warm, soft wall pressing against my back. A breath brushed past my ear, and for a moment time froze. Another break appeared in the sky; a beam of golden light shone through, illuminating the gaping darkness beneath my feet. _

_Then things sped up again, and I whirled and spun through the air, letting myself be guided by the rough, gentle hands. I smiled, taking two steps forward, then to the side, and then I was lost, the stars around me turning into silver lines. Laughing softly, I swung to a stop and watched as the cracks turned into chasms. The light became blinding, shining down bright enough that I had to shield my eyes, shrinking into the chest of my dance partner. Hands wrapped around me, and for a moment I felt completely safe and protected, untouchable. But the hands were not there to embrace me; they were to push me away. I stumbled and fell away, into open space, with nothing to hold me steady. My knees hit the surprisingly hard, invisible floor; the instant I went down, the sky shattered completely, golden light burning my skin. I saw nothing, I felt nothing, I was nothing but pain._

_**[One Month Later.]**_

"Bloody hell, this is awful. You'd think they could make a decent cup of tea." Shaun spat, setting the cup down with a glare.

Lucy picked it up and took an experimental sip. "It tastes fine to me." She judged.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Why would I be? Don't be so picky. I think it's pretty new here . . ."

"I don't care if the Queen of England is drinking it, it's terrible!"

"Oh, shut up, you two." Rebecca snapped. "You sound like an old married couple." Altaïr muttered something under his breath, glancing through the doorway.

"Good point." Desmond nodded at the Assassin, looking in the same direction. "Where's Anna?" Maria shrugged and kicked her feet up on the coffee table, knocking the tiny ceramic cup to the floor with a smash. She glanced over at Leonardo, who sighed and began to pick up the shards of white cup.

Akilina silently pointed at me through the doorway. The others glanced at me out of the corners of their eyes. No direct eye contact. I was the disease; it didn't matter what I tried. It was hopeless. I was living up to my role more than I had known was possible, and more than I cared to. Against my will, my mind was slipping, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I looked over at the others briefly before turning back to my work. My fingertips were stained black from the dozens of nubs of charcoal I had powered through in the last few days. I glanced at my model before curving another small line, smoothing the edge slightly with my forefinger. The cool stone of the wall was my perfect drawing board, my perfect canvas. I scratched another line in, listening to the symphony as the coal crunched across the wall. A few minutes passed before my masterpiece was finished: a beautiful, extra-large depiction of the Apple.

It was the word, the word, the word, the word Apple, all around. Different languages. Apple. Apple. Mela. Pomme. яблоко. 蘋果. Over and over and over and over and—

A knock stopped my train of thought. Well, not so much a train of thought, more like a Pi symbol of thought. Blinking at the odd comparison, I turned to examine my visitor. Visitor. Like I'm in a mental hospital. Ah, how fitting, the glorious irony. Coincidence? Oh, fuck it.

I shook my head. Stay together. Who was it? "Oh, hi, Ezio." I smiled.

"Anna . . ." He approached me, eyeing me warily, as though I were a wild animal. "You've been acting very . . . strange lately."

I laughed. "Strange is relative, Ezio, but I think you're right. What should I do? Take a walk on the beach?" My voice took on a bitter tone. "I doubt anything can help me now."

Ezio lifted his hand to brush my cheek. "Anna, let me help you. You are not well."

I turned my face away from him. "I believe that, but nothing can help me, and I don't want you wasting your resources on me. There's literally nothing you can do at this point."

He stepped closer to me, close enough for his cape to cover my arm slightly. "That is not true." He said firmly.

"You know what I think, Ezio?" I murmured, standing on my tip toes to touch my nose against his. "I think it's time to go home."


	10. The Truth

**I…I don't know how to say this…so I just will. This is, in fact, the final chapter. **

**One thing I would like to include is an apology. This entire thing was basically plotless, and for that I am so sorry. It is the main reason that I am now regretting even starting this. It was the fruits of poor planning and the childish want to please the crowds. It would have been best to simply wrap it up at the end of Masquerade and forget this entire thing. So as of right now, this is the end of whatever the Dances series could have become. I may release some crack branches of this at some later, undetermined date, but I'm not sure yet. **

**On another note, ****if you find my hidden message,** **you…well, ****you don't get anything****, really, ****except for maybe a mindfuck.**

**It's been my utmost pleasure being a source of entertainment for you all, but this, unless you read my other less-known fics, is my final farewell. It's been fun.**

**AF**

**Song:**

"Ahem . . . could I . . . could I have everybody's attention?" I waved my hand slightly, my cheek twitching slightly. I got a few heads turned, but I now had the reputation of complete lunatic. Not a one was going to really listen to me, except for perhaps Lucy and the rest from my time. My time. What an odd term. Ezio whistled loudly, and everyone turned their heads to observe us. Thanks, Ezio, for your odd . . . never mind.

"Uh . . . well, this goes without saying, but I think we all know that I'm a bit . . . well, not right." I let out a mad bark of laughter. There were a few nods, especially from Shaun and Malik. "So, after considerable study and basically the sacrifice of my own sanity, I'm . . . about ninety percent sure I can safely send you all back now. I'll . . ." I coughed slightly into my fist before hiding it behind my back. "I'll let you have your final goodbyes. Five minutes." I stumbled to a nearby chair and slumped down in it, carefully concealing my hand from Ezio, inconspicuously wiping the blood off on my pant leg.

I watched the clock morosely, keeping the time whilst observing the farewells of the characters. Malik and Shaun grudgingly shook hands under the careful surveillance of Lucy. Maria and Akilina nodded to each other, but were not quite comfortable enough to do anything beyond that. Desmond, Ezio and Altaïr shook hands as well—there was a lot of that going on. Altaïr and Akilina were now entwined together in a shadowed corner. I turned my eyes away, enduring the most awkward, sad, indifferent, unhappy five minutes of my pathetically short life.

After retrieving the Apple, I set it on the table non-too-gently. With a final glance at the gathered Assassins, I whispered, "Crusades first." I didn't need to say anything to use the Apple. But I did. Mad, remember?

Gold beams shot out from the orb, and a flash of light later, Malik, Altaïr and Maria had vanished. Gone.

Next came Akilina. I felt a bit bad about this one. Her stomach was a bit bigger than the last time I had seen her, and I was sorry, because I knew what was going to happen. Gold, flash, gone.

Then it was 2012's turn. I nodded to Lucy, Shaun and Rebecca. When my gaze fell to Desmond, I stopped. Letting go of the Apple, I walked over to the modern Assassin.

"I'm sorry." I murmured simply. There was nothing else to say. I gently wrapped my arms around his neck and pecked his cheek before returning to the Apple. Gold. Flash. Gone.

Now there was only me. It was going to be difficult to get myself where I needed to be, as I was the one using the bloody thing, but I could do it. I smiled back at Leonardo. He waved slightly, looking a bit dumbfounded as to what was going on. Then I turned to look at Ezio. He wasn't smiling.

"You know what, Ezio?" I asked thoughtfully, rolling the Apple back and forth across the table. "It's always been you. You just had to ask." He looked a bit shocked; the Assassin blinked before reaching down to grab my shivering hand. I had just enough time to look up before he bent down and kissed me. It was unlike our other kiss, given in petty competition. It was much softer; my heart felt like it was about to leap from my chest.

"You know what the best part about this is?" I asked as he pulled away slightly.

"I'm with the most beautiful girl on this earth?" Ezio asked charmingly.

"Nope." I whispered, gold light encasing the workshop. "You won't remember a thing." Flash.

Gone.

[…]

My knees made contact with something soft and white. _My carpet_. I stayed there on all fours for a moment, shaking, before breaking down completely. Tears dripped down my nose and cheeks, falling freely. How long I stayed like that was a mystery. Eventually, though, I stumbled to my feet and somehow managed to turn on the news. Five minutes of blindly watching later, I found what I was looking for. The date. _October 15, 2012. _No significance. But it had worked. I'd done it.

I cried some more.

[…]

"Emily!"

"Hey, Leah . . . what's up?"

"Thank God you answered your damn phone for once! Listen . . . something's wrong with Anna."

"And by 'wrong' you mean . . .?"

"She's a bit insane. Like, for real this time."

"Well . . . let me see her. Then we can decide . . . what to do."

],,,[

"Jack!" The woman ran to catch up with her co-worker. He stopped to wait for her, a slight smile on his face.

"Don't you think we should wait for any of the others?" He asked devilishly.

"No need." She added with a wink. They were about to exit when she suddenly perked up, as if remembering something. "Oh! Damn paperwork . . . I need to go back for just a second, okay?"

"Come one, it's the holidays!"

"I can't leave all that. . ."

"Fine."

She jogged through the building before stopping at her desk, grabbing a file and a group of other miscellaneous papers. Before she could leave again, however, she was greeted by Will; the young man smiled at her.

"Quite a day, huh, Robin?"

Robin furrowed her brow, turning to walk away. "Yeah, sure . . . listen, I kind of have—"

"Did you hear about what happened to the subject in room 772?"

The woman stopped and turned back around as Jack jogged up to meet the two. "No, I hadn't heard. What happened?"

"Well, so, you know Gary?"

"The guard?"

"Just the one!"

"Right. Get on with it."

"Well, so, he was making his rounds this afternoon. . ."

],,,[

_I hate this company. _Gary thought as he walked through the cold halls. He opened the door to room 769, moved his flashlight around to check that the patient was still there before closing the door, locking it, and moving on. _I hate them all. Too bad I need the money. _It was the same thing over and over again. Open door 770, check inside, lock it, keep walking. _Who's going to break into a nuthouse anyway? It's just __a__ little metal rectangle with a nut inside. _Open door 771, check inside, lock it, keep walking. He stopped at the next door. _What a piece of work she is. Gives me the goosebumps every time I walk past here. _Carefully, he opened the heavy door and peeked inside. _Hope she's just dreaming some crazy __dream__. _

She was awake. The second the door creaked open, she spun around to stare at the guard. "What day is it?" She asked.

_Always the same question. _"It's December 21, 2012." Gary answered in a monotone.

She jumped to her feet and sprinted at the open door. Gary jumped in shock and had just enough time to shut the door before he heard her slam against the metal on the other side, a blood-curdling scream echoing from the other side.

"_No! You don't understand!" _She cried madly. He could hear her scratching futilely against the door with her fingernails, making horrific screeching noises. "_You have to let me out! I KNOW THE TRUTH! I KNOW THE TRUTH! I KNOW THE TRUTH!" _

[…]

They don't believe me.

They never will.

I wish I didn't care.

But I do.

Scars on my arms still remained. Over time, they had healed into thin pink lines, and now they had turned pale crème, blending with the rest of my skin, save for it being slightly raised, as scars usually were. Nightmares haunted me, even in my waking hours. At first, I had thought that getting out of Abstergo would stop the visions, but I was wrong. Even now, in this horrid, sterile place, I saw faded images of soldiers or birds of prey, disappearing and appearing at random intervals. Every day, I woke up wishing that today would be the day that the ghosts would vanish from my life. But they never did.

And deep down, I knew they never would.


End file.
